Tag: adorable

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Amir felt totally helpless, stuck at work and reading the texts from his boyfriend who was having an increasingly bad day. He overslept. The printer ran out of ink. He spilled half his coffee on the counter and didn’t have time to make more. He managed to drive to school but because he was late, had trouble finding parking. Marvin had put the files he needed to print on a thumb drive, but when he got to the computer lab, he realized he’d left it at home. Luckily, his teacher was sympathetic and allowed a one day grace period.

It didn’t end there – the yogurt Marvin bought at lunch was spoiled. He dripped mustard on his shirt. When he took it off to wash it in the bathroom, someone snickered and called him “fatty” under their breath as they walked out. I laughed when my boyfriend texted me: “I wish I were a real bear, I would have bit him.” And on and on; my boyfriend worked at a cafe, and they called and said they were temporary closing because they’d violated health code. Mold in the ice maker, for example. And in an afternoon class? A plagiarism program had detected some inconsistencies on a paper he wrote, despite that it was all original content.

On the way home, Marvin’s car began to make funny noises. Despite his fearsome appearance, my boyfriend was a sensitive guy. I knew he was going to be upset and down from life dumping on him. I came up with a plan to cheer him up, and left work a little early. By the time, Marvin dragged himself through the door, he was mentally beat down and barely had the energy to kick off his shoes. I sent him a text: Come to the bedroom, babe.

Curious, he scurried down the hallway. When he opened the door, his face lit up. I was lying on the bed, nude and ready with my balls peeking out from between my legs, one of his favorite donuts perched on my ass.

“Oh Amir,” he purred. “Now that is a sight for sore eyes.”
“The donut is from Lucy’s.”
“Lucy’s still had chocolate frosties still late in the day…?”
“They had one left. I guess you could say you got lucky there.”
Marvin smiled. “A thoughtful boyfriend, his hairy ass on display for me, and a donut… yeah I guess you could say I am pretty lucky. I just don’t know which one to eat first.”

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Text is fictional. This or this might be the source but not sure if that’s the original poster or not. This caption is for Big Gay Rob.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

We were leaving the park and it happened – we synchronized. We had each-other’s hands in the respective back pockets, then we removed them and gave each respective asscheek a squeeze. Tim and I both just stopped and looked at each-other.
“Did that just happen?” we say at the same time. Tim begins to laugh. “Oh god we’ve become ‘that couple’ haven’t we? We’re spending so much time together we’re becoming the same person.”
I scoff. “That’s impossible. It was just a confidence. We’ve only been dating three weeks, it can’t happen that quickly!”
Tim raises an eyebrow at me, then shakes his head with a little smile on his face. “Whatever you say, babe.”

We begin to walk forward again, but we both put our left feet first. Tim immediately stops, and then of course, I stop. By this point, he already has the giggles. “You go, then I go. You do left foot, I go right foot.”
“That was just a coincidence too,” I insist.
I put my left foot forward and take a couple steps and Tim lets me pass, then jogs up to catch me. Our stride fell into its natural ways. That is, until I subconsciously reached for his hand and mine bonked against his – seeking the same thing.

“Oh come on!” I say exasperated. “You did that on purpose!”
“I swear I didn’t!” he gasps, laughing.
“We need to be careful. I like you, I don’t want the relationship to burn out too soon.”
That goofy smile appears on his face. “You like me?”
“Yes, I like you. You’re cute as hell, you have great posture, you’re so considerate and ambitious and your humor is off the wall. Plus, I like men who are smaller than me.”
“Ohhh god, fuck now I have to marry you for saying that. We have to elope and everything.”
“We can’t elope after 3 weeks, Timmy.”
“Why not?”

We both speak at the same time. “Your mom would kill us,” I say. Tim answers himself: “Well, my mom would definitely murder me.” I’d only known him a short while, but he’d already told me about his mother who was a wedding planner specializing in big, showy affairs.

I stop walking again and give him a glare for having synched with me again. “Ok, it is silent time until the car. Stand over there and be normal.”
Tim laughs again. “Oh god I can’t. I can’t deal with this. We’re too adorable, I’m giving myself a cavity.”

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Text is fictional. Source unknown, would be appreciated.

PSA: I’m selling some writing to offset the cost of bills, please check it out.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

My boyfriend came with a lot of baggage. Abandoned by his parents at 3, Ciprian grew up in an orphanage in rural Romania until he was adopted by American parents at 12. Malnourished, club footed, and institutionalized, it took years of therapy and medical care to salvage his youth and life. I met Ciprian at an art gallery showing. His therapist suggested he paint as an outlet to his anger and so he created beautiful, turbulent works of art. I purchased two, then asked him out for coffee.

Cip reminded me of a moth, cute yet a bit dull colored, flapping weakly with an injured wing. He needed more love than his parents could give him. He was starving for it. He needed so much love, it overwhelmed me. His eyes were so hungry. When Ciprian and I walked down the street in our big city, he always looks frightened and meek in ill fitting clothes. He was also self conscious over his leg brace. But, I loved him. I loved his interest in plants and his dedication to art, the way he served me tea and homemade cherry dumplings as if I were the Queen.

Some days, when Ciprian gets overwhelmed or depressed, and insists that he was a mistake and he should have died in that orphanage, I take him to the park. I let him gaze upon the river and the trees, feel the wind and the sun on his face, listen go the birds and frogs. It grounds him, to remember that although sometimes the world is ugly, it can be beautiful too and he is as part of it as anything else. There isn’t much that words can do. I just put an arm over him, and kiss his shoulder, and remind him I’m here and I care about him. Sometimes, he’ll put a hand on my thigh, squeeze it, and just cry softly while staring forward. I think when this happens, the poison is being pushed to the surface and washed away by his tears.

He’s getting better for sure. Ciprian has improved a lot since we met. He dresses better, and is painting more and selling steadily. Even though he is on disability for PTSD, he landed a job in an art supply and framing store. I threw him a party for this accomplishment and after everyone left, we made love in our bedroom with the windows open.

I was actually quite surprised he liked sex. At first, he was only interested in exploring my body in almost a clinical way. I would just lie there and his hands would roam over me, pushing on me, stroking me, testing me. I let him. I thought it was erotic. I always had to finish myself off because Ciprian liked to watch; he found it fascinating.
Gradually, we built it up trust until he permitted me access to his body. I think it makes him happy knowing that although he feels like he’s gross and malformed, that I desire him. Also, he seemed surprised that there was nothing wrong with his sex drive after all, it was just dormant, buried beneath all his trauma.

I think sometimes I’m doing a little more than helping him heal. I think I’m helping him find his identity. Not Ciprian the orphan, Ciprian the adoptee, Ciprian the 24 year old, just…Ciprian. My Ciprian.

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Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the source for this. Edit on pronuncation: ‘Ciprian’ is pronounced “Chip-riahn and the stress is on the second syllable”.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“I can’t do this Kevin. I can’t be your boyfriend. I’m going back into the closet. They wrote "faggot” on my locker in gym class and someone told me I was going to hell.“
"Brazos.”
“What?” he pouts, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
I grasp his jaw in my hand and walk towards him until our foreheads touch. “Brazos, you are stronger than this.”
“No I’m not. I’m a nerdy hockey goalie, not a popular jock quarterback. I’m not made of Teflon.”
“But you are. You don’t even know it yet. You’re gonna graduate in a few months, go off to college, and this whole backwards town will roll right off your back. You’re gonna go and do incredible things, move to the big city, and leave them all in their backwards dust.”
“I am?”
“Yes you are.”
“I’m not so sure about that. They’ll probably call me "faggot” there too.“
"They might. But by then, you’ll be a man. You’ll be educated and employed and you’ll have confidence. Let them. Let the ignorant assholes broadcast themselves so you can avoid them. When you grow up, you won’t be forced to be around them all the time.”
“Kevin that’s in the future but now…” he looked down.

“Who got the student counsel to organize a fundraiser for Ms. Kramer after her child died from cancer?”
“…Me.” Brazos blinked, wondering where this was going.
“Who made that amazing back-handed save in double overtime, giving our team the puck, which lead them to score and win the regionals?”
“…Me.”
“Who got out of bed at 3 am to come pick up his brother from a party that went south?”
“Me.”
“Who brought me their bunny to cuddle with last year, when I was stuck in bed recovering from getting my appendix out?”
“…Me.” The corners of his mouth lifted up.
“Who kissed me first, when we sat on the grass at that music festival and watched your favorite band play that ballad as the sun set behind the stage?”
“Oh man I was so nervous! It was so cheesy.” he laughed. “But that was me.”
“Did you like it?” I ask.
He looks to the side, shy. “Yeah. I did.”
“Who is going to go off to college with me, and is gonna help me pick out our first apartment, and have an amazing first year with me getting into trouble, exploring our sexualities, and making banana bread in the middle of the night?”
“Me.”
“You got that right.” I kiss him, and he reciprocates with a little smile. “And what has Dirk Kessler done worthy of remembering?”

Brazos opened his mouth, then shut it, and furrowed his brow. “I’m sure there are things, but football is an inferior sport to the greatness of hockey so…”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “Then who cares what he thinks?”
“Suddenly, not me.”
“Who is going to be proud and out and be an inspiration to any other kid in our high school still closeted?”
“Me again.” He beams.
“And who is going to prom with me?”
Brazos blinks. “Prom? Prom? Oh my god are you serious? Are you asking me to prom? Like, with other people?”
“Yes, Brazos.”

He hesitates, then looks at me. He takes a deep breath and nuzzles my nose with his nose. “Me. I’m going to prom with you and I’m gonna look like a stud in a suit.”
“That’s my boy.” I kiss him again.
“Hey Kevin?”
“Mmhm?”
“Who is going to be giving me another kiss? Cause I think I’ve been missing out on those lately, being an idiot who doesn’t appreciate how wonderful his boyfriend is.”
I grin. “Oh that is definitely going to be me.”

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Text is fictional. Found a tag that said this is from Helix Studios.

Collars and locks and tails, oh my!

Collars and locks and tails, oh my!

by ccallenreese

aaronitron:

After I posted those pictures of me being collared, I have received a few messages from people who are curious about my relationships with Kevin and what all of this means. I thought it would be fun to write a post about it and illuminate why I’m collared and what that means, as well as who Kevin is in my life.

I’ll jump into the latter part of that first. Kevin is, first and foremost, my friend. We began as friends, our friendship is very close to me, and we will continue to be friends for a long time. Our friendship encompasses the entirety of our relationship, which is to say that him and I connect on a variety of levels. We both find value in strong intellect and the pursuit of knowledge and understanding, we have been there for each other emotionally through some difficult times in the last (almost) year, we both know how to enjoy live and have fun and thrive together in those moments, and we have similar sexual interests that compliment each other very well. These are all building blocks of a strong friendship, and that is what we have together. It is those building blocks that made me want to be collared by Kevin, knowing that I am lucky to have found someone in my life who connected with me so well, who would love me as fiercely as he does, and who would care for my heart like it was something very precious.

While that is why I decided to become collared by Kevin, that is not exactly what the collar represents. The collar is a symbol that Kevin is my Daddy, and I am his boy. This is a dynamic that touches on a number of those connections that I listed above. Most obvious, of course, is sex. Kevin has and will only ever top me, he is the dominant sexual partner in our relationship, and he calls the shots. I, of course, can ask to do things but when push comes to shove, it is Kevin tossing me around and not the other way around. A related factor to that is ownership. While Kevin and I have decided together that it is important for me to maintain my single life, and therefore when we are not together I am free to date and have sex with other people, when we are together I am very much his. I am not allowed to let someone touch me (e.g., grab my ass in a bar), that is a decision that Kevin gets to make, and in fact someone must ask his permission prior to doing so. There is one part of ownership that extends throughout my life, regardless of being with Kevin, and that is he is the only man who is allowed to breed me. That one has taken a lot of discussion, but eventually we did decide that it made sense in our relationship and was something that was important for our dynamic.

There is a third big piece to being collared, as Kevin and I have defined it, and it is a worship of masculinity and mentorship into manhood. As my title will tell you, I don’t see myself as a man yet. To me, manhood comes when a level of confidence is reached, when a person finds their footing in the world and life becomes something you take control of. Boys let life happen to them, and men make life happen. Boys are cocky, men are confident. Kevin has those qualities, and I do not. Part of our Daddy/boy dynamic is leading me into manhood, through hard conversations about life and how to make it mine, through tough workouts that build my body into what I want it to be, not what I’ve settled for, and through those discussions we have on a variety of topics that get my mind thinking and help me find what it is I believe at my core. (Admittedly, I’ve already done much of that and Kevin will be the first to admit, when we are hashing out an idea, I am nothing less than man.)

In the short time that I’ve know him, Kevin has reignited a drive for life that I have not felt in a very long time. It is because of Kevin that I started reading again, that I decided to stop smoking weed, he was there for me recently when my dad was in the hospital for 5 days and we were not sure if he was going to come out, he has inspired me to get back into my gym routine and I have never been more proud of what I see in the mirror… I could go on and on about how much he has done for me. He is exactly the kind of man I have wanted to have in my life, and the kind of man I want to be.

Plus, we have really hot and fun sex 😛

Another great post from another undiscovered non-fiction Tumblr. Show this to anyone who doesn’t understand collaring or the benefits it can have. Too often in our society we expect boys to just “be” men, without any emotional support or leaders to guide them to adulthood.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Greg had been listening to his boyfriend’s heartbeat for the last forty minutes. It was so soothing to be so comfortable, so warm and snug on a chilly spring night. Yet, he couldn’t fall asleep. Normally he was out like a light – wasn’t there something he’d forgotten to do? It nagged at him. Jesse was asleep too half under him, and Greg had been listening to the soft sounds of him breathing the entire time. He liked having quiet moments like this to appreciate his lover and to just snuggle – his previous boyfriend didn’t like to snuggle – but Greg wanted to join Jesse in sleep now. What was the deal?

He ran through his night routine – turn off the light in Jesse’s beloved aquarium downstairs, lock the doors, turn off the porch lights, put the meat from the freezer on a plate to defrost in the fridge… he’d done all that. Go upstairs, check. Brush his teeth, check. Floss, check. Give his boyfriend his good night kiss, ch… wait a second. Greg furrowed his brow. No, he hadn’t. They’d been talking about Greg’s pregnant sister when they turned off the lights, and Jesse had dozed off. That’s what it was. Greg felt warm when he realized it. He couldn’t sleep without his goodnight kiss. Jesse meant that much to him.

Greg tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Jesse’s soft, open ones, their stubble brushing together. He couldn’t wait to tell Jesse in the morning… and that was his last thought before he fell off into deep sleep.

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Text is fictional. The actors are Tom Cullen and Chris New, and this gif is from the heartbreakingly beautiful gay film Weekend.